


wings.

by stanuris



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: IT Chapter Two Spoilers, M/M, Post-Canon, Stenbrough, but it's after stanley uh... takes a bath, majorly chapter two spoilers though!!, nothing graphic, suicide TW, this was prompted by a tumblr request!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 07:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20596973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stanuris/pseuds/stanuris
Summary: Before Stanley Uris passed, he wrote letters to his loved ones, hoping to give them some closure and get a few things off his chest. Bill has been avoiding reading the one with his name on it, irrationally hoping that if he never reads it, Stan would never really be saying goodbye.or;Stan confesses his love for Bill just a little too late.





	wings.

**Author's Note:**

> @lostboyspidey on tumblr asked: "Could you do a like stenbrough angst after Stans death and pennywise is dead and Bill can finally mourn and like maybe he gets a separate letter?"
> 
> a bitch had to deliver. this hurts my heart so MUCH, but i've been writing for the past couple days and paused what i was working on just to crank this out. stenbrough rights.

In the hour before Stanley passed, he wrote letters to those that he truly loved. One to his parents, one to his wife. Copies of the same letter to each member of the loser’s club. Stan wrote a separate letter, though, addressed to Bill. He left a note with them after they were sealed, asking Patty to send them out as one last favor. One letter will never be read.

Bill has been avoiding reading the one with his name on it, irrationally hoping that if he never reads it, Stanley would never really be saying goodbye. He already read Stan’s letter to the losers, and that was hard enough. How could it be that Stan would be saying goodbye one last time, when Bill never got to say hello to him again?

It takes Bill almost three weeks after leaving Derry for a final time to even open the damned thing. After some gentle nudging from Mike and Audra, though, he opens it. He holds the paper in his hands, as gently as he can manage, for fear of ruining the only thing he has left to connect him to Stanley.

_Bill;_

_This one is for you—just you. I, uh, have to tell you something. I don’t know if this will make it easier or harder for you to move forward, but I think I need to say it._

_First of all, I’m sorry. I couldn’t keep my promise, but deep down I think I always knew that I wouldn’t be able to face It again. I don’t know that I’d even be able to face _you _again. I never forgot you, not really. I forgot about It, sure. I forgot about the rest of the losers almost entirely; until I got that call from Mike, they were just a distant, fond memory of the friends I had as a kid._

_Not you, though._

_Sure, I didn’t remember you with a lot of clarity until Mike called. But to be fair, I don’t have the best long-term memory to begin with. You’ve always been something special though, Bill. Do you remember that book you made me, for my birthday when we were kids? You drew my favorite birds, and you hand-wrote facts about them and the first place we saw them together. You bound the pages yourself, and wrapped it up and hid it under my pillow._

_That was the first time I ever realized that I was—am—in love with you._

Bill chokes back a sob. His shoulders shake, his eyes sting, and he covers his mouth with his hand. He can’t handle this—he needs to breathe, needs to step away and pretend that this isn’t real, that this isn’t happening—he knows that he’s put it off for too long as it is, but he doesn’t care. It’s too much, it’s all too much, and his heart feels like it’s made of lead.

He sets Stan’s letter down and takes a walk.

He doesn’t go back to the letter until that evening, when he’s sitting on the edge of his bed with a cup of tea. He doesn’t even really _like _tea, but of course he made a cup of Stanley’s favorite on autopilot. A sad smile ghosts across Bill’s lips when he realizes this, and an errant teardrop almost falls onto the paper.

_I_ _’ve loved you since before I was aware of it. I think I’ve loved you since before I met you, even. I think that in any universe, in any lifetime, I will always find a way to fall in love with you. It’s hard for me to put it into words, but you make me feel like I mean something. You make me feel strong, and brave, and wanted._

_You make me feel like I have wings._

_I know that you’re married now. Hell, I know that _I’m_ married now too. I know it would never have worked out the way I dreamed it would, and that’s okay. But I want you to know that I kept the book you made me. I’ve read every book you’ve ever written since, too. I’ve seen some of your interviews, but that’s never intentional. Sometimes you’ll be doing an interview on the radio, and hearing your voice feels like home. Whenever I see an interview of yours on TV, it hurts in a way I can’t explain. Seeing your face and knowing that you don’t know me anymore is painful, but just looking at you still makes my heart swell. I hate that now, when you’ll finally remember me, it’ll be too late to talk. I missed my chance._

Bill’s throat tightens. He wipes his eyes, and wonders briefly when he started to cry. He doesn’t _want _it to be too late to talk to Stanley. He doesn’t _want _to feel like he’s the main character in a love story that got cut short. Sure, he never writes happy endings, but _god _does he want one. He wants to pull Stan into his arms and tell him that it’s okay. He wants to tell Stan that he has pages upon pages of poems about a boy who loves birds and looks like an angel in the sunlight—someone he didn’t remember until a month ago. He wants to tell Stan that in every book he’s ever written, there’s always a boy with curls and a subtly devious smile who looks oddly like an angel hiding in the pages. He wants to tell Stan that no matter how far he ever got from Derry, his heart yearned for something it couldn’t recall. He wants to tell Stan that he loves him. That he’s _always _loved him.

_I don’t want you to mourn, though. I wish I could explain more of why I’m doing this, but I can’t find the right words. I’ve always been like this, you know. I never really pictured myself even getting this far. I haven’t felt like myself for so long, Bill, and this is just… Well, it’s too much, is what it is. I’ve been having this terrible dreams, ever since the first time we faced It. They went away for a while, after I got the hell out of dodge and met Patty. I’ve been okay for a while. Content. I have a house. A stable job. A strained relationship with my parents. All the things that adults are supposed to have, right? I really thought I was doing better. I—I really thought I got better, Bill. But it’s really just not that simple, huh? Even though I should be happy, even though I _am _happy, it’s still too much. Remembering everything has been a blessing and a curse._

_I remembered things that I had forgotten about you. All the little details that made me fall for you. I remembered my friends, and the fun we had together. Of course, though, it couldn’t just be good memories. The terrible memories that I’ve been running from are overwhelming now. I’ve been hearing things, seeing things, seeing It everywhere. I’ve been remembering unspeakable things that I’ve seen, that I’ve lived through, and I don’t know that I can handle it. I can’t handle knowing. It—it’s too much. I won’t go into it, I won’t put you through all that nonsense, but everything’s seemed so much darker again lately. This may not be the best answer, but it’s all I’ve got._

_Like I said, though, I don’t want you to mourn. I want you to go, live your life to the fullest now that you’ve (assumedly) defeated It once and for all. I want you to keep in touch with the other losers, and I want you to live with less regrets than I did. I want you to remember that no matter where you end up, there will always be someone who loves you. I’ll find a way to keep on loving you from wherever I am next. Keep writing, Bill. Keep making a difference, even if it’s just in one life at a time. And, if you don’t mind, check on Patty for me every once in a while. You’d get along with her, honestly. You’re cut from the same cloth. That’s probably why I married her, to be frank._

_…Man, that sounds terrible, doesn’t it?_

Bill laughs, in spite of himself. His heart feels like it’s breaking all over again, but Stan always had a way of making him smile. Bill’s hands tremble, but he keeps reading.

_What I’m trying to say is that I love you. And I hope that you take the love I’m putting into this letter and you put it back into the world. I hope that you let yourself be loved, that you let yourself be happy. I know you’re not the kind of person who’s ever been able to let anything go, but if you could give yourself a break on my behalf, that’d be swell._

_Someday, in some lifetime, I’ll find you again. And when I do, I’ll love you just as fiercely as I always have. Maybe next time I’ll be able to tell you that._

_Don’t miss me too much, Big Bill._

_ Forever yours,_

_ -Stanley Uris_

“Don’t miss you too much, Stanley? Are you joking?” He laughs a bitter, heartbroken laugh, and hangs his head low. He runs his hands through his hair and then stands, wiping his eyes. How is he meant to handle this? How is he meant to handle having the person who meant the most to him out of anyone torn away from him the second Bill remembers that he loved him to begin with? How is this _fair? _Bill is heartbroken, to say the least. Not only is his relationship with his wife already tense, but now he’s lost his first love. He re-reads Stanley’s letter. Over the next few days, he reads it over and over again until he knows it by heart.

Something that Stan wrote does stick out to him, though.

_ Keep writing. Keep making a difference._

Bill looks around his home. It’s far too big and lonely for him, the space and pointless things filling a void he didn’t know was there. He looks at all the things that he doesn’t need, and all the things he wishes he could share with Stan. He wonders for a moment if he’s ever made a difference in his life. He supposes that he _did _defeat a murderous… Thing… But that doesn’t seem like making a real difference to Bill. He paces around his living room, letter still in hand, thinking about all the things he wishes he could say. _Maybe rather than just wishing I could talk to Stan again, _Bill thinks, _maybe I should just write it._

Esteemed horror author Bill Denbrough’s next book—and all the ones after it—is dedicated to Stan. He writes happy endings now, but not in the way people expect. The guy doesn’t always get the girl. The monster isn’t always defeated once and for all. His villains are still cruel, people still die, and the stories he tells are just as scary as they’ve ever been. But now, there’s always growth and a bittersweet sort of peace in the end. There’s _hope_ in the pages now. Bill donates most of his profits to suicide prevention charities and wildlife conservation efforts. He feeds the birds every morning, and a soft smile creeps across his face every time the beautiful blue jay that frequents his yard perches near him and sings.

Bill hopes that Stanley finally got his wings.


End file.
